


Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend

by blown_transistor



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2018-08-13 23:51:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7990873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blown_transistor/pseuds/blown_transistor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rebecca has six dollars to her name and a friend with a plan to get her credit cards paid off. Frederick Chilton, as Jane Austen said, is "a single man in possession of a good fortune...in want of a wife". All hail the power of the internet to bring people together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I've made a playlist for this story, too. https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLjgjKHy4ofeAHvQkrpl_Ar_raooZyfPD8
> 
> Song for this chapter is "Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend" (the title for this story) from the movie "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes"
> 
> This entire story is the result of Tumblr user raulism posting something about how Chilton would TOTALLY be on a sugar daddy dating site. Naturally, all credit for inspiration (and information shared for research purposes) are credit to Blair. 
> 
> The weekly Esparza Discussion Group knows this story by it's working title, "Sugar Peacock". I'd originally planned on keeping this title (at their insistence), until I remembered that the title song ("Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend") this song exited. 
> 
> Many thanks to Tumblr users raulism, abrasivepersonalitytendersoul, and thatiswhyiholdyoudear-jewelthief.

“So what are we drinking tonight while we write up the specials?”

“Unless you’re buying, Camille, we’re drinking water.” The brunette retorted, removing her apron and throwing it into the hamper in the corner of the closed restaurant kitchen with the other used linens. “I’ve got all of six dollars until tomorrow and four maxed out credit cards.”

“Good thing I am indeed buying tonight.” She produced a bottle of Moët and two champagne flutes from her large bag.

“Camille Marie, you have even less money than I do. Where the ever-loving fuck did you get the money for a sixty dollar bottle of champagne?” Rebecca questioned, accepting the offered glass from her friend and coworker.

Bringing up her laptop, she minimized the Microsoft Word document that held the beginnings of the new specials menu, typed quickly into the address bar of her browser, and turned the screen to her friend.

She looked back and forth between the screen and Camille a few times. “A _sugar daddy_?”

“It’s when…”

“I know what it is. I’m just struggling with why.”

“Hello? Guys that have too much money and want to spend it are in search of girls that want money spent on them. It’s perfect.” She held up her glass. “I don’t know about you, but I’m never buying boxed wine again.”

Rebecca scoffed, grabbing the laptop. “Let’s just get this done.”

“I don’t know that I like your tone.” Camille snatched the laptop back.

“What tone? I-If it works for you, go for it.”

“Hey, you could find someone on here, too. Maybe someone that’d take you to back to Paris for the weekend. Y’know, for no reason other than they can. And then pay off a credit card or two.”

Throwing her own apron into the bin, Rebecca smiled sadly. “There’s more to life than Paris.”

“Who the hell are you? What have you done with Rebecca Mavourneen? Did you forget the fact that you actively plotted overstaying your student visa?” She navigated to another page. “A cultured, well-traveled woman that’s fluent in another language with a talent for cooking? Hon, you’ve got ‘trophy wife’ written all over you.”

“Can we write the specials?”

“I’ll take care of it later.” The redhead snatched a set of notes from her friend’s pants pocket. “I’m going to write your profile. You do formal makeup, send me a selfie, and I’ll send you the password.”

“No.”

“What have you got to lose?”

“My sanity?” She shook her head. “He’ll be sixty and bald.”

“Mine’s thirty-seven with a full head of hair and the dick of a porn star.” Camille’s lips twisted up into a wolfish grin. “Call ‘em ‘sir’ in bed and keep the Louboutins on sometimes.”

“You’re not going to stop until I agree to this, are you?”

“Nope.”

“I’m going to live to regret this.”

“Remember, ‘it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife’, Becca.”**

“Do not bring Jane Austen into this.” She downed her glass of champagne and took an unladylike drink from the bottle before exiting the kitchen. 

* * *

 

Sinking down into a hot bubble bath after a long, busy Friday night at the restaurant a few days later, Rebecca let out a relieved sigh. After hours on her feet bent over a stove and window, the warmth of the water and relaxing lavender scent quickly began to melt the evening away. Taking a long drink of her second (strong) vodka-tonic of the evening, she slid her earbuds into her ears, pushed play on Elvis Presley’s _Aloha from Hawaii_ album, and opened the dating app for which she’d only just been given the password.

“Four messages. Oh joy,” she remarked as she rolled her eyes to the tune of the intro to 2001: A Space Odyssey that opened the iconic album. As the song faded into “See See Rider”, she immediately dismissed the first two messages.

The third message had a promising subject line, so she skipped it to check out the fourth. That message giving her the creeps, she went back to the third one as the soundtrack faded into “Burning Love”. The fact that he was forty-one gave her a bit of a pause, but what the hell? It wasn’t like she had anything to lose.

“ _At a glance, you seem like the sort of woman I’d love to meet: educated and talented. I’m in search of a intelligent (Johns Hopkins has an acceptance rate of less than twelve percent, so color me impressed), cultured partner that enjoys the arts, is willing to be a housewife, and has as healthy sexual appetite._  
  
_Would you be interested in a committed, loving relationship where you would spend four or more nights together each week and eventually move in together?_

_I see you’re a chef. I just had a thought about whether or not it was possible to make a vegan quiche._

_I hope to hear from you soon._  
_-F._ ”

The grin on her face at the conclusion of the note was practically predatory...but short lived. Of course, Camille made her profile as pleasing as possible. Her mouth fell open when she clicked on his profile. A doctor with a $5 million net worth with an annual income of $550,000? And this guy was interested in her? She took a deep breath before backing up to the message and typing a carefully worded reply.

“ _Mister F.,_  
_First off, let me start by saying thank you. I’ve worked very hard on my education. I graduated last week. So you’re interested in a June Cleaver type that you can take the opera and not have to explain to her what’s happening on stage. I get it. I’ll bring your pipe and slippers with dinner happily. Have you ever had sex with Faust as the soundtrack? I haven’t, but I like the idea._

_To answer your questions:_

_Yes. I am very interested in that sort of a relationship. However, my work schedule may be a bit of a problem. I go to work at 3 pm. The restaurant closes at 10, and I am usually out by 11 pm. I assume your work schedule, being a doctor, is 9-to-5 ish?_

_Yes, it is possible to make a vegan quiche. Coincidentally, I get paid to cook vegetarian and vegan dishes._  
_I see you, too, enjoy travelling. Do you have a favorite vacation spot? Since I’ve been in college, I haven’t travelled near as much as I’d like to. If this works out between us, maybe we can go somewhere together.  
\--R_ "

“ _Miss R.,_  
_The scenario you put forward involving Faust is quite an intriguing one. I’d certainly like to explore it in more depth should this situation prove amenable to us both._

_Education is important and should not be neglected. (Your profile does not mention what you studied. Do you mind if I inquire?) I cannot say the same of your job, however. Would you ever consider quitting, naturally under the right circumstances?_

_While I do have to work late from time to time, my schedule is generally set along the 9-to-5 hours you mentioned._

_I would love to taste this vegan quiche. Where is it that you work? I have difficulty digesting animal proteins. So with my dietary requirements, chances are good I’ve at least tried your establishment._

_While I don’t have a specific vacation spot, I have a favorite region -- the Caribbean. And yourself?_  
_-F_.”

“ _Mister F.,  
__I majored in French with a minor in History. I actually spent the summer two years ago on a study abroad in Avignon. Being in a city that old with my educational background was...an amazing experience. I cannot even begin to describe it. I would walk for hours…_

_Anyway…_

_In regards to my job, I haven’t given that much thought. I love what I do, but I suppose for the right person and relationship, I could leave it. Although, I’m not entirely sure what I’d do with all of that free time. Oh, and the restaurant is called The Lonely Garden. It’s not too far from campus._

_I’m afraid my list of places that I want to go is much longer than the list of places that I’ve been. I’ve been all over the United States with my family. We went to London, Québec, and Rome as well. While I was studying in France, I had the chance to go to a few places in Germany and Denmark, as well as some travelling in France. I’ve never been to the Caribbean, but I’m certainly open to going._  
_-R.”_

“ _Miss R.,_  
_What to do with your free time is perhaps a discussion for another time. But I have indeed been to your establishment. The food was excellent. If you cook at home like you cook at work, you will undoubtedly spoil me._

_I’d love to travel to France again. It’s been many years since I’ve been, so I’m sure it would be an even better trip with a lovely French-speaking tour guide on my arm._

_With each response, I want to meet you more and more. Would you be willing to unlock the rest of your profile so I could see who I’m corresponding with?_  
_-F_ ”

“ _Mister F.,_  
_I’ll show you mine if you show me yours, Doctor._

_‘Voici mon secret. Il est très simple: on ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux.’*._

_(I’ll unlock it now.)_  
_-R._ ”

Rebecca climbed out of the lukewarm bathwater, wrapped her towel around her middle, and made her way to her laptop on her bed. Bringing up her browser, she went to the dating site and clicked around until she’d successfully authorized this mysterious, “Mister F” to look at the two pictures Camille insisted she upload. Task done, she quickly toweled off and slipped into some clean underwear and her favorite flannel sleep shirt.

“ _Miss R. (or can I call you Rebecca),_

 _My French is very rusty, but I’m fairly certain you quoted Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. If you are available for brunch tomorrow, I would be honored if you accompanied me.”_  
_-Frederick_ ”

Refreshing his profile, her eyes widened at the sight of his pictures. “ _Mon dieu_!”


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would anyone be interested in me linking the recipes I mention?
> 
> Playlist is here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLjgjKHy4ofeAHvQkrpl_Ar_raooZyfPD8 . Added for this chapter is "Sabotage" by The Beastie Boys because I do what I want.

Saturday came quicker than expected for Frederick Chilton. He’d spent half the night messaging the gorgeous woman he was set to meet for brunch. If she was half as amazing in person as she was via text, he didn’t stand a chance.

His gaze quickly moved from the menu in favor of the distinctly English engine note he caught coming from the direction of the road. He smiled when a “British Racing Green” vintage Mini took the turn into the restaurant parking lot _far_ too fast. As the car swerved and screeched to a halt in the parking spot two spaces down from his Jaguar, he caught a few lines of the song blaring from the Mini’s sound system -- a song he hadn’t listened to since the mid-Nineties.

_So while you sit back and wonder why_

_I got this fucking thorn in my side_

_Oh my god, it’s a mirage_

_I’m tellin y’all it’s sabotage…_

The driver killed the engine, causing the Beastie Boys song to stop mid-verse.

Frederick squinted when the driver stepped out of the car. Be still his heart, her Mini was right-hand drive. She had the right hair color and general appearance of the pictures he’d seen of this Rebecca. When the mystery woman shook her head and pushed her sunglasses on top of her head, he bit the inside of his lip nervously. It was definitely her. And she was somehow cuter in person than in her photos. Hopefully he wouldn’t lose the ability to speak.

Her long brown hair was tied up in a high ponytail. The ends brushed the collar of her blue, vintage inspired shirtdress. She stopped just outside the restaurant door and adjusted her brown strappy sandals before entering. Once inside, she dropped her keys into her large, beige purse and turned to address the hostess.

Frederick’s heart began to pound when her eyes finally met his. God help him.

She grinned and threw up a small wave to let him know she’d seen him. She quickly made her way over to the table. “You must be Doctor Chilton,” she drawled, holding out her hand when he stood up to greet her.

“I-I am. Frederick, please.” He took her hand firmly and leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek. “And y-you must be Rebecca Mavourneen.”

“That’d be correct. Either Rebecca or Becca are fine, anything _but_ Becky. Regardless, it’s nice to meet you.” She set her purse on the floor behind her chair and slid into it. When the waiter came by, she ordered a glass of water. “Any idea what’s good here?”

“Honestly, no. I’ve never been here before. The reviews online were good, though,” he admitted, still incredibly nervous. How she wasn’t jumping out of her skin was a miracle in his mind.

“Then this is a day of firsts for both of us. I’ve never met up with anyone I’ve met online before.” She shrugged. “I’ve never used online dating ever before this week. And even then, it was my friend that signed me up. Guess she’s sick of me being single and complaining about it.” _And broke…_

“It’s hard to believe that a woman as beautiful as you could be single for longer than a minute.” Good to know he managed to maintain control of his power of speech. When she let out a breathy laugh, he had to suppress a whimper.

“I could say the same of you, Frederick.”

The waiter returned as a hot blush crept up the sides of Frederick’s neck, and the unlikely pair ordered. He motioned down toward his own glass of wine. “Sure you won’t join me?”

“Rain check? I have to go into work later.”

 _It’s probably considered poor taste to tell a woman five minutes after meeting them that you’d never deny any request accompanied with that pout…_ “Rain check it is, then.”

“Don’t let me forget your vegan quiche. It’s in the car with cracked windows.”

“So the whole parking lot is smelling _my_ food.”

“To be fair,” Rebecca warned, propping her chin up in her hand. “ _I_ made it, and I haven’t given it to you. So it’s still _my_ food.”

“Is everything with you going to come down to semantics?” he added with an eye roll.

“Of course not. I…” Her hand moved from under her chin to across her forehead in an effort to hide her embarrassment. “I am so far out of my element here, it’s not funny. I’ve never been even _propositioned_ for a relationship like this. I got four messages. Two sounded like something out of _Repo!: The Genetic Opera_ , one made me think I’d soon meet my end in some game that would make David Carradine look like he enjoyed the missionary position… I-I-I agree to meet the one that actually asked about my education, and I put my foot in my mouth.”

Frederick reached across the table and stopped her from reaching into her purse as he smiled hopefully. “Please don’t leave. I’m sure I’ll put my foot in my mouth, too. I always do. Besides, I _was_ being a bit of an ass.”

“You really don’t want me to go?”

“God, no.” He shook his head, still holding her hand. “If you could quit your job right now, and money weren’t a factor… What would you do?” he started after a few moments of silence.

“Well, I didn’t lie in any of those messages.” She squeezed his hand in response. “Rambling on in French and cooking wonderful food for the family I don’t have has always appealed to me on some level. That, and experiencing everything I can in this life. And sharing what I have seen with someone that’ll appreciate it.”

“A fine answer, my dear. I feel the same way. Well, except for the cooking part. I’m not very good at that.”

“It’s a learned skill. I’ve never had any formal training, after all.”

 _Color me impressed._ “And just how did you manage that?”

“My grandmother taught me. Then, I went to college and made a contribution to the first sorority potluck my freshman year.” Rebecca laughed at the memory. “There was almost a cat fight over the last portion of my Irish mashed potatoes. I started making dinner once a month for the entire house. Then, a year ago, a former sister and her husband wanted to open The Lonely Garden and needed a chef. And here I am, still throwing in my late-Irish grandmother’s recipes on the special menu from time to time...only with tofu instead of meat.”

“Reconsidering your answer?” he inquired at the sight of her sudden change in facial expression.

“Just my lack of wine.” Glancing down at the wine list, she began to reconsider her lack of a drink. “If the person here writing the specials consulted with the chef at all, which I presume they did, a sauvignon blanc should pair nicely with the chicken dish I ordered.”

“What about work?”

“A glass of wine three hours before going in won’t impair my cooking abilities.” Upon making her selection with the waiter a moment later, she dabbed gently at the corner of her eye. “I just realized I never answered your first question, though. If money weren’t a factor, I’d collaborate with a friend and coworker on a cookbook. Hell, I’ve never made a vegan quiche before this morning. You can be my guinea pig for all these new recipes I’ll be dreaming up.”

“The recipes don’t have to be vegan…”

“You don’t mind tasting vegan ones, do you?”

“Of course not.”

“Good.” She grinned again. “I’d recommend joining a gym if you aren’t already a member of one.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He picked up his glass of wine a few moments later when hers arrived.

She was about to take the first inhale and drink of the fragrant wine when she noticed his gesture. “Are we drinking to something?”

“To ‘a first time for everything’ and dearly departed grandmothers.”

“I’ll drink to that gladly.” She brought her glass up and touched the rim to his. “So Doctor, what’s your speciality?”

“Psychiatry.”

“Wonder what Freud would say about this situation,” she mused, motioning between them. She stopped suddenly and raised her hand to stop him from answering. “On second thought, I don’t want to know. I had to take Psych 101 for a pre-req. I remember the Oedipus Complex and something about dreams. I had nightmares for a month that I died in a shower like Janet Leigh.”

He stared at her for a few seconds before raising his hand to cover his eyes and shaking with silent laughter. “There’s a bit more to it than that.”

“I’m sure there is, but I’m sticking with ‘ignorance is bliss’.”

 

Over the course of the next two hours, a wealth of knowledge was exchanged.

Rebecca was from South Carolina. Frederick was from Virginia.

Between the two of them, they were just going to have to buy season tickets to the opera.

While they both enjoyed vintage British automobiles, her Mini was altered to maximize its racing capabilities. While his Jaguar wasn’t modified, he was mildly curious as to how her racing-bred car would drive.  

Frederick nearly forgot his own name when Rebecca quoted Voltaire in their conversation, naturally flawlessly. “Aime la vérité, mais pardonne à l'erreur”*.

Among many other things.

 

“I wish you didn’t have to work tonight, my dear,” Frederick lamented, standing up from the table and gripping his ostentatious cane with his left hand.

“I wish I didn’t, either.” She stood as well, making a mental note of the cane she hadn’t noticed before. Taking his arm when he offered, Rebecca let him lead her out of the restaurant. She tugged on his arm and walked him over to her car. She opened the door and produced a covered pie pan from the passenger seat. “Your quiche, sir.”

He smiled warmly. “Thank you.”

“You’ll have to let me know how you like it.” She slipped a piece of paper into the breast pocket of his sport coat. “I had a very nice time today, Frederick. Maybe we can see each other again?”

He nearly dropped the quiche onto the pavement. “You want to see me again?”

“Of course I do! U-Unless you don’t…”

“God no! I mean yes. I’d love to see you again.”

She let out a sigh of relief. “Good, because my number’s in your coat pocket.”

* * *

 

“Doctor Chilton, your one o’clock appointment is here,” the diminutive secretary announced, keeping Rebecca just outside of the office.

A grin bloomed across his face as the smell of food wafted into his office. Standing up from his desk, he dropped the file he’d been reading onto his desk and walked to the door. He dismissed the assistant and ushered his “appointment” inside before locking the door behind them. After a brief text message exchange (interrupted by the dinner rush Saturday night), they’d decided that she would bring him lunch the following Tuesday in his office.

Rebecca took out some bread, a glass container full of soup, bowls, and utensils from her insulated bag and set them up on the coffee table in the corner. Her attire wasn’t her day-to-day choice. Not completely out of her comfort zone, but hey, she definitely looked the part. The black, orange, and teal halter maxi dress that didn’t leave room for a bra was leftover from a mixer two years ago. The black Louboutin knockoffs were a souvenir of a trip to a “offbrand” merchant on a trip to New York City. She could feel his eyes on her as she straightened up. _“First date, you want to bait him. Second date, you want to leave him begging for more_ ” was what Camille said during their post-work debriefing Saturday…

“Miss Mavourneen,” he greeted warmly, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. “It’s good to see you. And this food smells _delicious_.”

“I hope it tastes as good as it smells then,” she offered with a smile. She shrugged off her light cardigan. The multicolored dress had a very low back and a neckline that plunged to the tip of her sternum. There was a reason she’d only worn this particular dress once. But he was handsome. And he’d clearly been as nervous as she was on Saturday, so maybe it’d all cancel out. Toeing off her heels, she sat down on the leather sofa and divided the soup between the bowls.

He tucked his tie into his shirt and sat down next to her. “I see some mushrooms in here. What is it?” he inquired, taking a bottle of water from her.

“It’s a creamy cauliflower and mushroom soup.” When he took a cautious sniff, she shook her head. “Cauliflower, when pureed with other things, gives a creamy texture. So this is vegan, actually. It’s new,” she explained gently. She bit the inside of her upper lip to hide her smile as he hummed his appreciation of the dish after tipping a spoonful in his mouth.

“It’s quite delicious.”

With his approval secure, she picked up her own bowl and began to eat.

 

“You’re working Saturday night, but what are you doing Sunday?” he inquired once they’d both finished.

“Absolutely nothing, apart from going to the farmers’ market like I always do. Did you have something in mind?”

“If you were so inclined, you could come to my house after you’re done on Saturday night. Spend the night and see…”

“I could do that.” Rebecca smiled and rested a hand on his arm. “I could make you an early breakfast for the both of us if you’d like to come to the farmers’ market with me.”

“What time would that be?”

“I wouldn’t want to get there any later than 7:30 am.”

“That’s awfully early, especially given how late you’ll be arriving.”

“You’ve had my cooking twice now. Is an early breakfast before we go and a late lunch after we get back and have a nap  worth it? I typically spend Sunday afternoons experimenting with what ingredients I pick up at the market.” With his interest visibly piqued at the mention of food again, she teasingly moved her hand to his and ghosted her fingers over his knuckles. “I promise it’ll be worth your while.”

“Oh really?”

She looked up at him through heavily painted eyelashes. _If I make it through this without ruining all this makeup, it’ll be a miracle._ “May I kiss you, Doctor Chilton?”

Frederick dipped his head and caught her lips with his preemptively. He cupped her cheek when she sighed and leaned into the embrace.

She slid a hand underneath his suit coat, over his chest and up so that her thumb rested on the side of his neck.

When her tongue flicked out and touched his lips, he gripped her hips and pulled her onto his lap so that she was straddling him. His arms wound around her waist while his hands splayed across her mostly bare back.

Carding his her fingers through his thick, dark hair, Rebecca tilted her head back to allow him better access to her neck. When his lips met her sternum, she was forced to bite back a smile. “Is there something I can take care of for you?” she inquired, grinding herself against the hardness poking her hip.

He groaned against her skin and rested his head on her chest to hide his embarrassment. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

His eyes shot up to meet hers.

She began to twirl a stray bit of hair around her index finger. “I did say I’d make the early morning worth your while. Consider this a partial payment.” She twisted her hair up into a makeshift bun using his Montblanc that she swiped from his pocket as a makeshift hairpin. Carefully backing off of his lap, she kneeled in front of him. Her hands gently squeezed his knees to silently ask for permission.

Frederick nodded slowly. His mouth went dry as she unbuckled his belt, undid the front of his pants, and freed him from his underwear. He never thought the sight of his fifteen hundred dollar pen in someone’s hair would be thrilling, but he’d never write with it the same way ever again.

With little more than a playful grin of warning, she closed her lips around the head of his cock and began.

He made it all of seven and a half seconds before the muscles in his neck forgot how to hold his head upright, and he slumped back into the sofa. “Oh my god,” he whispered reverently, gripping the arm of the dark leather sofa for support.

She tried to hide her surprise at the sheer number of his soft moans and his facial expressions. One might think the man hadn’t ever had a blowjob before at this rate. Like Camille said, this relationship was a mutually beneficial one. She closed her eyes and backed off slightly.

He bucked when he felt himself hit the back of her throat. “O-Oh g-god. I’m…” he warned, but didn’t even last long enough to finish his sentence. When his orgasm hit, it caused him to raise off the back of the couch and double over until his head hovering over hers.

Once he was finished, she swallowed one more time and pulled off of him. Rebecca reached onto the table behind her and produced two napkins. Handing one to Frederick, she used the other to dab at the corner of her mouth. She turned away while he composed himself to pack up her dishes.

He moved to stand behind her and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. “What about you?”

“Are you coming with me Sunday morning?”

“Yes…”

She slid on her stilettos, bringing her to almost his height. With her bags on her left arm, she leaned in to give him a lingering kiss goodbye so he could taste himself on her. “Then I’ll just see you Saturday night, Doctor Chilton.” She pulled the expensive pen from her hair as an afterthought, letting the dark strands fall around her shoulders again before tucking the pen back into his pocket.

He faltered on his first step to help her to the door.

* * *

 

*”Love truth, but pardon error.” Voltaire, 1738


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did I say this thing takes place between Seasons 1 and 2? If I didn't, it does. The playlist is still the same.

 

_Baby close your eyes and listen to the music_

_Drifting through a summer breeze_

_It's a groovy night and I can show you how to use it_

_Come along with me and put your mind at ease_

_A little less conversation, a little more action please_

_All this aggravation ain't satisfactioning me_

_A little more bite and a little less bark_

_A little less fight and a little more spark_

_Close your mouth and open up your heart and baby satisfy me..._

 

“Someone just dropped this off for you, Becks,” Robin the hostess announced, sliding a nondescript white box onto the counter by the cheap radio in the kitchen.

“I’m not expecting anything.” Looking in the direction of the box, she grinned at the sight of the big, red bow stuck to the lid. “Who brought it?”

“A messenger. He’s gone.”

“Someone must’ve impressed the doctor Tuesday,” Camille offered innocently. She watched as her friend abandoned her prep work and crossed the kitchen to access her gift.

“Shut it, Camille.” She cautiously lifted a corner of the lid. There was no doubt the mystery gift was from Frederick. She _did_ give the man head in his office two days earlier, and he looked like he might faint. He might send an apron that says “fuck the cook” or something.

Only the red and white patterned apron didn’t say anything. Resting on top of it was a note.

 

“ _Miss Mavourneen,_

_I deeply regret not being able to deliver this in person. I had hoped to visit your restaurant tonight, but an emergency arose at work late in the day. I am unable to get away. I am counting the days until we see each other again._

_Yours,_

_Frederick_ ”

 

She grabbed the box and note and headed for the walk-in cooler. Once inside, she donned the apron, tied the string around her waist, and posed for a selfie for Frederick.

 

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

 

Across Baltimore, Frederick Chilton contemplated murdering the problematic patient that kept him from seeing Rebecca. He sighed as he looked at his watch. The restaurant closed an hour earlier. After shifting his car into neutral and applying the handbrake in his garage, he turned off the ignition and exited the old, red sports car. He fished his iPhone from the inside of his jacket once inside his own front door.

He’d seen where she’d texted him a picture several hours earlier, but was unable to read the message at the time. Bringing up the message thread, he smiled as he dropped his iPad and keys onto the counter. His exhausted eyes were greeted with a picture of her shining face (with less makeup on than he’d seen her with on the two previous occasions they’d met) blowing a kiss at the camera and wearing the apron he’d sent to her.

“ _I’m sorry you had a difficult day, Frederick_ ,” the text accompanying the picture began. “ _Unfortunately, while I’m also at work, there’s nothing I can do to make it better. But in the meantime, thank you for the beautiful apron. I wish you could make it tonight so you could see me wearing it. I’d love to see you, but will go back to work knowing that I get to see you Saturday night. (Tonight’s special is quinoa-stuffed roasted peppers. If I can save you one, I will.) I have complete confidence in your ability to handle the emergency, Doctor.”_

Just as he was about to put his phone back into his pocket, another picture and message came through.

“ _I hope you’re home, Frederick_ ,” the second message read. “ _Don’t open this if you aren’t._ ”

As he was home, he dared look at the picture that came shortly after he’d begun reading the other one. He bit his lip...and knew that come Saturday, he’d have her the second she walked in his door.

On his phone screen was Rebecca laying on her back on her bed with nothing on (as far as Frederick could tell) apart from the apron. “ _Hopefully your night is better._ ”

* * *

 

Two days later, Frederick found himself cursing the second ringing of the doorbell at half past midnight. When he finally opened the door, he was met with the face of his companion for the weekend thoroughly drenched in the late spring rain. “I didn’t realize it was raining this hard. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not. I was walking from my apartment to my car, and a cab ran through a puddle.” She stepped around him and gently set down her purse and overnight bag on his wood flooring. “I wish to god I was pulling this story from a Nicholas Sparks novel.”

Shutting the door behind her, he pushed several soaked tendrils back from her forehead. And just like that, his plans for taking her the second she walked in the door were up in smoke. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes and into some dry ones, hmm?”

“I’m all for getting out of these clothes. What are your thoughts on joining me?” she inquired with a wink.

He let his cane fall to the floor, pulled her against him roughly, and crashed his lips against hers. Peeling her wet Rolling Stones tee shirt over her head, he threw it across the entrance way where it hit the floor with a loud splat. He moaned into the heated kiss at the combined sensation of his back hitting the wall and her slender fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt. When he had to break away from the kiss again to shed his undershirt, he took her hand and led her down the hallway without a word. By the time he’d gotten the light turned on, she’d shed her jeans and bra. “Dear god,” he breathed, taking in the sight of her wearing only a very small red thong. “You’re somehow more beautiful than I’d hoped.”

“You flatter me, Frederick.” She smiled sweetly, as if she’d forgotten the bulge in the front of his pants and the fact that she was practically naked. The smile turned predatory once she began to undo his belt and fly slowly. “Have you been thinking about me naked?” When he merely sputtered in response, she ran her thumb up the underside of his cock that was still covered by his underwear. “It’s okay, I promise. I’ve been thinking about you, too. If your fingers are half as good as mine, I might die more than _la petite mort_ . Good thing you’re a doctor, _Doctor Chilton_ ,” she whispered.

Frederick’s green eyes darkened with lust. Pushing her down onto the bed, he removed his remaining clothing and joined her. “Miss Mavourneen,” he began, brushing his fingers over her chest and down to her thighs. He pressed kisses to her jaw, neck, collarbone, and finally settled between her breasts. “I’ve thought of little else since Tuesday.”

“Hopefully I’ll live up to expectations.” She let out a pleasured sigh when his lips closed around a nipple and his hand began to knead the other.

After switching his mouth’s attention, he left a trail of kisses down her stomach and stopped just above where he knew she wanted him to be. He ran the pad of his right middle finger along her center with a predatory grin. With only a few touches, she was wet and ready for him. “You’ve already surpassed them.” When she bucked against his hand, he slid a finger into her. “By miles.”

She threw her head back onto the soft pillow when his tongue took the same path as his finger. When it found her clit, she bit her lip to keep from crying out. It’d been a while. She’d almost forgotten how good it felt.

He paused and lifted his head. “No need to hold back, my dear. The only ones who can hear you are us. And I like hearing everything, including what you’ve been thinking about when touching yourself the past few days.”

“How good it’d feel to have you inside other places than my mouth.” She relaxed completely and ran her fingers through his hair when he began eating her out like a starving man. “W-What might’ve happened if I didn’t have to go to work Tuesday.”

“And what’s that?”

“I would have bent over the arm of that sofa and begged you to fuck me.”

As a reward for her admission, he added a third finger inside her and began licking her as fast as he could. His reward caused her fingers to tighten painfully in his hair.

“Frederick, I’m…”

He looked up just in time to see her eyes roll back in her head as her orgasm hit. Feeling how tightly she clamped down on his fingers, he knew he wasn’t going to last long. When she finally came down from her high, he climbed back up to the top of the bed and kissed her.

Rebecca hooked a leg around his hip and pulled him down on top of her. “I need you. Please,” she whined, twisting her lips into a pout.

There was that pout again. He offered up a silent prayer for stamina and a quick second orgasm for her. “On your knees.”

“Yes _sir_.”

 _This girl might just be the death of me_ , he thought as she maneuvered into position in front of him. Frederick ran a hand over the smooth, pale skin of her back and slid on a condom. “Is this how you imagined it, Miss Mavourneen?” He slid into her and gripped her hips.

“Oh my _god_ , yes,” she moaned. She was going to have to take back everything she said to Camille about balding, old men with tiny dicks. At his urging, she tilted her backside up towards him.

He wrapped an arm around her middle and pulled her up so that her back touched his chest. Knowing he wouldn’t last much longer, his fingers once again found her clit. “I need you to do something for me, my dear.” When she turned her head to look him in the eye, he nipped her shoulder. “I’m close, but I want you to come again for me. Can you be a good girl and do that for me?”

She nodded, putting a hand on the back of his neck to hold herself up. With a few more thrusts and touches, her head fell back against his shoulder as her second orgasm tore through her. “Jesus fucking _Christ_!”

His hand closed gently around her neck. “You’re such a good girl. So goo…” The rest of his words died on his lips when he followed her into release. Pulling out of her, he dropped the condom into the trashcan beside the bed. He grinned when she flopped down onto the bed face-down. Laying down beside her, he pushed hair away from her forehead. “Are you still among the living?”

“For now,” Rebecca began. She rolled over so that her head was facing his. “You don’t disappoint, Doctor Chilton.”

“Neither do you.”

“Thank you.” She ran a finger along the long, red scar on his stomach.

“There are downsides to working with the more dangerous members of society.”

“Did Abel Gideon give you this?” When he recoiled sharply, she gasped in surprise. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Who told you that? Who are you?” He stumbled out of the bed and backed slowly toward the bedroom door.

“I-I’m me. I’m Rebecca Kathleen Mavourneen. I’m a chef from South Carolina. My I.D. is in my bag down the hall. Please, Frederick. All I did was type your name into Google before I came over tonight.” She held up her hands in surrender. “I stumbled across an article… Before, there were always other people around. And now, it’s just us. Like I said, I got some creepy messages, and I just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to chop me up into little pieces and bury me in the garden.”

Frederick put a hand over his heart in an effort to slow its hammering in his chest.

“I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’m sorry.” Climbing off the bed, Rebecca began picking up the trail of discarded clothing she’d left behind. “I have the apron with me. I’ll leave it on my way out.”

“Stay, please. I overreacted.” With a gentle guiding hand, he led her back to the king-sized bed and climbed into the high thread count sheets with her. “There was a lot of press surrounding all of that. I’m a fool to think you didn’t see any of it. I’m still on edge a bit. I just knew that I didn’t tell you about it…”

“And you thought I used false pretenses to get into your house.” She propped herself up on her elbow and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. “I assure you, I did not.”

“I believe you. It appears that deception is as alien to you as is the surface of Mars.”

“I am probably the world’s worst liar, but my father did teach me the art of the poker face before he died. The only times I’ve ever been successful at the art of deception have involved hands of blackjack and games of chess.”

“I don’t believe that for a moment.”

“Then play me once at chess.” She shrugged.

“I will have to hold you to that, my dear.”

“‘Kathleen Mavourneen’ was a song popular during the American Civil War because ‘Mavourneen’ is derived from the Irish Gaelic ‘mo mhuirnin’, which means ‘my beloved’. I somehow had a father that came here from Ireland that wanted his youngest daughter to share a name with a folk song. He changed his last name just so he could name me ‘Rebecca Kathleen Mavourneen’." She laughed and shook her head. “So when you say ‘my dear’, I appreciate it.”

“I’m glad. I wish I could tell you I’d done my research, but… I mean it nonetheless.”

“It’s a sad song behind my name, but it’s beautiful.”

“I think you and I need a glass of wine, Rebecca.”

She sat up in the bed, covering herself carefully. “I thought you’d never ask.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song mentioned in this chapter is "You and Tequila" by Kenny Chesney (featuring Grace Potter). Playlist is here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLjgjKHy4ofeAHvQkrpl_Ar_raooZyfPD8

_ “O, wonder! _

_ How many goodly creatures are there here! _

_ How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, _

_ That has such people in’t!” _

\--William Shakespeare,  The Tempest

 

The muffled beeping of her cell phone alarm from underneath the pillow roused Becca from a deep sleep at 6:15 the next morning. Fishing around without opening her eyes, she eventually located the phone and turned off the alarm. She opened her eyes and squinted at the flood of early morning sunlight. 

Frederick rolled over to face her and grunted. “Y’sure you still want to get there at 7:30?” he asked through a yawn. “We  _ did _ have a rather late night.” Intertwining his fingers with hers, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it before holding it to his chest. 

“We did,” she agreed with a knowing, sleepy smile. She reprogrammed her alarm with her free hand. “I’ve reset my alarm for 8:30 so I can put breakfast in the oven. I’ll wake you up when it’s ready.”

Humming his agreement, he pulled her into his embrace and kissed her forehead. 

“Goodnight again, Frederick.” She draped an arm over his waist and let herself fall back asleep against the human equivalent of a space heater.

 

The delightful smell of eggs and various vegetables cooking roused Frederick from a fairly mediocre dream. He stretched, popped his back, and made his way into the open kitchen with the help of his cane. The oven timer still had a few minutes left, but there was no sign of Becca. At the sound of a faint voice coming from downstairs, he pivoted and quietly followed it.

“ _ Thirty days and thirty nights Been puttin’ up a real good fight. And there were times I thought you’d win. It’s so easy to forget The bitter taste the morning left. Swore I wouldn’t go back there again _ …”

He stopped at the top of the stairs leading down to the wine cellar and guest room. Waking up to the pleasant aromas of breakfast and Rebecca’s not entirely unpleasant singing every day? He could most certainly do worse.

“ _ ‘Cause you and tequila make me crazy, Run like poison in my blood. One more night could kill me, baby. One is one too many, one more is never enough _ .  _ When it comes to you Oh, the damage I could do. It’s always your favorite sins That do you in _ …”

He peered around the doorframe into the guest bedroom. 

His houseguest, dressed in skinny jeans and a long sleeveless shirt, closed her eyebrow gel. “‘Kiss Kiss Bang Bang’ or ‘Red Velvet’?” When he sputtered in response, she laughed. Grabbing both lipstick tubes she brought with her, she joined Frederick in the hallway. “I’d hate to wear something you hate.”

He swallowed deeply, unaware that she’d noticed him before that. “Kiss Kiss Bang Bang” was a darker pink and would look great with her outfit. But on the other side of the coin, “Red Velvet” was the deep red lip color his dreams were made of. Both colors would go well with her simple cat-eye makeup and white shirt. “Both colors are wonderful, my dear…”

“But?”

And there was that pout again, the one he was almost powerless against. And she was asking him to choose. “‘Red Velvet’,” he blurted. If this relationship didn’t last past this weekend, he’d have something to file away for later. “You can’t go wrong with that color.”

“You still have a few minutes before breakfast is done, if you want to go shower.” Reaching up, she brushed away a bit of hair that fell in his face. “I got ready down here so I wouldn’t wake you. I have this habit of singing in the shower…”

Frederick gave her a lopsided smile. 

Becca pouted and fingered the collar of his black robe. “I didn’t wake you with my horrible singing, did I?”

He shook his head. “The smell of breakfast did, not that I’m complaining.” Stepping back into the en-suite bathroom with her, he stood behind her and watched her carefully apply the crimson lipstick. 

She slid the gold tube into the front pocket of her jeans and took off running up the stairs when the timer began to go off. 

Once he’d reached the kitchen, he was met with the added aroma of coffee. 

“How do you take your coffee?” she called, pulling the dish out of the oven and resting it on the glass-topped stove to cool. Sliding off the silicone oven mitts she’d found in the drawer by the stove, she turned the appliance off and poured a cup of coffee for her host.

“Three cream and three sugars.”

“If I’d known that, I would have just gone ahead and put cream and sugar in the whole pot.” She added the requested amounts to the plain blue coffee cup and set it down on the counter in front of him. “I take mine the same way.”

“So we do, my dear.” Picking up the mug, he took a small sip of the heated brew. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” 

 

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

 

Exiting Frederick’s car an hour later, Becca checked to make sure her shopping bags were in place in her massive purse before making her way to Chilton’s side. She shifted her purse to her right arm and dragged her fingertips down the inside of his right forearm. “Thank you, Frederick,” she acknowledged, lacing her fingers together with his. 

He squeezed her hand in return as they walked through the parking garage and out onto the street. Their second time in public together and she was clearly not shy. At his own observation, he began to walk a little straighter. 

She wasn’t the first girl he’d met through the dating site, but she was the first one to make it past the initial meeting, thanks mostly to his own insecurities. He’d considered fleeing yet again when Rebecca made him blush after a few sentences with a compliment. It’s easy to have bravado when the woman in question is nothing more than a picture that may or may not actually be her. It’s another matter entirely when she’s the equivalent of a newborn kitten on a scale of least to most threatening things…

... _ and is completely clueless about this whole relationship dynamic _ , he thought with a smirk as he handed the peach vendor a ten dollar bill for the two small baskets she’d picked up before she could retrieve her own wallet. “Get whatever you think you need, my dear.” When she was ready to move to the next stall, he took her hand again. “I can see the wheels in your head turning, and I don’t think I’ll ever be happier to slip into a food coma.”

“I have a few ideas,” Becca admitted with a knowing smirk. “We’ll have to make a stop on the way back to your house, though. They don’t sell puff pastry here.” 

Frederick took her hand again as they walked to the next booth. He watched as she fingered a simple gold metal bracelet with a coral-colored horseshoe and a gold four leaf clover for charms before putting it back down and moving onto the booth across the way selling bread. Letting go of her hand, he picked the simple piece of handmade jewelry and slipped the seller a few dollars. He caught back up with her, and silently asked for permission to put it on her wrist after she put down the loaf of rye she’d been inspecting.

“You really didn’t have to.”

He pressed a kiss to the pulse point just above the bracelet. 

A faint blush crept up onto the apples of her cheeks. “But thank you.”

 

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

 

“Are you sure you just want to sit there and watch me, Frederick?” she questioned after setting the oven to pre-heat. “I’m budgeting two hours for this to be done and ready to eat. The cobbler will be at least another twenty minutes prep time. Your opening salvo didn’t exactly read like you were eager to help me cook.”

“I told you that I’m a fairly abysmal cook.” When she stopped cutting up the sweet potato and put her hand on her hip, he shrugged. “The kitchen came with the house. That doesn’t mean I’m not interested in watching a professional at work, especially a professional skilled at masking the absence of meat.”

She spread the rosemary and thyme she’d crushed together on top of the sweet potato before sliding it into the oven on a small pan once she’d finished slicing it. “I’m afraid it’s going to be a dull show, hon.” Turning away from him, she turned on the burner underneath the pan of olive oil. “I’d recommend working on those case files for a while.”

“And what if I told you I powered through all that work yesterday before you got here?”

“Then I’d go tell you to go start watching  Breaking Bad on Netflix while I work on this.” Dropping the onions she’d diced swiftly with the device she’d brought with her into the pan with salt, pepper, and oil, she poured herself a glass of the red wine he’d brought up from the basement. 

He motioned for her to hand him a wine glass. “You mentioned that you enjoy chess, too.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve played. Are you trying to catch me when I’m distracted, Doctor Chilton?”

“If I am?”

“Go get the chess set,” Becca challenged. When he moved a knight upon his return, she responded by sliding forward a sacrifice pawn. She dumped the chestnuts to the pan with the onions and spices.

“You might not be as good as you remember.”

Glancing at the board, she tossed the toast into the pan, too. Ignoring her opponent, she scooped some butter in a separate pan so it could melt with the bits of lemon zest and sliced mushrooms. After exchanging a few moves, she eliminated one of his bishops with one of her knights. Becca poured the contents of her pan into Frederick’s blender and turned the appliance on before bringing another deep pot of water to a boil. “Are you wanting to place a wager on this?”

He pulled a stool up to the island and sat down. “I’d rather think of it as a more of a test than a wager, but if you want to put stakes on it… Just know that I’m rather good.”

“As am I.”

He looked at the cheap market bracelet circling her left wrist. “We’ve each had five moves. If you can beat me in under twenty, I’ll buy you something much shinier than that trinket today.”

Elbow on the counter, she rested her chin on the heel of her hand. “And if I can’t?”

“I have something in my office that needs  _ taking care of _ at lunch all this week.”

“Unless my ears deceive me,” she purred with a predatory grin on her face “it seems you  _ like _ getting blown in your office,  _ Doctor _ Chilton.”

“It was a very pleasurable experience, Miss Mavourneen. One I’d like very much to repeat.”

“I find your terms agreeable. I accept.” She dumped the torn kale leaves into the pot before eagerly shaking his hand…and taking his other bishop with a rook with the other hand. “Six.”

 

Twelve moves and her vegetarian “beef” wellington going into the oven later, Chilton found himself at an impasse. His king was blocked in by a combination of two of his own pieces, one of her knights, one of her rooks, and her queen. 

While he pondered every possible exit strategy from her cocky-toned cry of “check and mate”, she turned back to the stove to mash the potatoes for part of the dish. “Have you given up yet?”

As soon as she turned her head, he flicked over his king. “Checkmate.”

She moved to stand between his knees on the other side of the vast island and stuck her bottom lip out. “Maybe I’ll come to your office anyway. I enjoy giving  _ and _ receiving.”


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got super long. And I realized I haven't updated in six months. I'm so sorry. I've been busy. (My sister, Bridezilla, got married. Yeah. That went... Let's just say I got home and made the strongest martini I've ever made.) This chapter and the next one were one chapter up until tonight. I decided to split it up so Stacey could get some sin. I hope to have the next chapter (that is dedicated to her) up in the next...well, next little bit.
> 
> The song for this chapter is "Got My Mind Set on You" by George Harrison (coincidentally, the #1 song on the Billboard chart the day I was born). The playlist, as always, is here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLjgjKHy4ofeAHvQkrpl_Ar_raooZyfPD8 The video for the song is...special. But for George Harrison, I'll excuse pretty much anything.

_ I got my mind set on you _ __   
_ But it’s gonna take money _ __   
_ A whole lot of spending money _ __   
_ It’s gonna take plenty of money _ _   
_ __ To do it right, child...

 

“Frederick?” Rebecca began expectantly, leaning back into his embrace after they’d both finished up the lunch she’d brought to his office the following Tuesday.

“Miss Mavourneen, the tone in your voice suggests you want something from…” He trailed off when an idea hit. Pushing himself up off the couch, he dashed over to his desk and removed something from the center drawer. “You must be wanting this.” Frederick resumed his previous place and handed her a small box in an iconic shade of blue.

Her hand began to shake as she reached for the box. “I-I was going to ask what you were doing Thursday night, but…”

“I promised you something shiny if you bested me at chess, and I’m now delivering. Please,” he paused and motioned toward the Tiffany’s box. “Open it.”

Biting the inside of her bottom lip, she removed the white bow and slowly opened the box. “Oh my god,” Becca whispered at the sight of the silver ring with a single onyx in the center surrounded by a ring of pearls. “I… It’s beautiful, Frederick. It looks like it came from the Twenties!”

He chuckled at her reaction and draped an arm around her shoulders. “Knowing that your tastes tend to bend toward the vintage side, my dear, I had no doubt you would.” Plucking the ring from the box, he slid it onto her right ring finger. 

Inside, she wanted to tell him it was too much. All she did was win a singular chess match. Because of that, he’d bought her…  _ This is a mutually beneficial relationship _ , she chanted internally. She held her hand away from her body to admire the ring. “I’ll only take it off to put it on my necklace while I’m cooking. It’s truly beautiful.” Becca settled in his arms again, tilted her head up, and kissed him. She brought her hand to his cheek so that he could feel the metal on his skin. 

“Darling,” Frederick lamented when he reluctantly broke away from the kiss for air. “I would love nothing more than to help you fulfill that fantasy you told me about over the weekend, but I don’t have…”

“Condoms stashed in your office for a time such as this?” she interrupted with a grin and a glance toward her purse. “I came prepared.”

“Good girl,” he purred, attaching his lips to the side of her neck.

“If I’m a good girl for bringing condoms, what kind of girl does not wearing underwear make me?”

“The best.”

She lifted her dress just enough so that he could see she wasn’t wearing panties. Standing with her dress in hand, she straddled his lap. “I locked your door behind me.”

He let out a low moan before pulling down the front of her dress and closing his hands over her breasts. 

While he was otherwise occupied, Becca made quick work of undoing his belt and pants. She began to stroke him with strategic use of her thumb and ripped the condom wrapper open when he was ready. “I need you.”

The rational side of Frederick’s brain hung out it’s “gone fishing” sign the moment she began to ride him on his office sofa. His hands moved from her chest to her back just before his head came to rest against her clavicle. Content to let her do the work this time, he reclined into the sofa and brought her down with him. 

The soft moans that managed to escape her lips played like a symphony in his ear. Where she’d been boisterous in his home, she kept her voice down in his office…

...Before he could move on from that final thought, his breath caught in his throat as his release caught him by surprise. 

Rebecca dropped her head to his shoulder, panting until her heart rate returned to normal. 

“I think we need a superlative that goes beyond ‘the best’ for you,” he offered in a hoarse whisper. 

“You could call me ‘magnificent’.” She grinned while lifting herself off of him and adjusted her dress. 

“Something funny?”

Becca shook her head. “I just remembered that old ‘Carnac the Magnificent’ thing that Johnny Carson used to do.” She shook her finger at him when he cocked an eyebrow at her reference. “I’m an old soul. I go far beyond Carson and  _ The Tonight Show _ .”

“To what,  _ Sesame Street _ ?”

Twirling her ponytail around her index finger, she chuckled. “You will come to regret that when you least expect it.”

“Is that a promise?”

“I beat you at chess, didn’t I?”

* * *

“So,” Camille began with a smirk Thursday afternoon “are you going to introduce me to your new squeeze tonight?”

Becca grinned as she slid the last two pans of potato-based hors d'oeuvres into the restaurant oven in advance of the special event. “He knows he has you to thank for me joining the site, so yes.”

“I guess he and Henry will have a lot to talk about.”

She gnawed on the inside of her lip nervously as she poured the ingredients for the aioli into the food processor. “Do you ever  _ not _ feel like a prostitute?”

“Huh?”

“He gave me money two days ago.” When her friend opened her mouth to answer, she held up a hand to silence the response and checked the curlers in her hair held back by the hairnet. “Before you remind me  _ again _ that this is a mutually beneficial relationship, he handed me an envelope with cash in it after we had sex. And after handing me a Tiffany’s box.”

“I’ve never felt that way, but I’m an emotionally fucked up human being.” Camille hip-checked her counterpart. “Where’s the money now?”

“Still in the envelope in my purse.”

Looking at her watch, she grinned. “You have an hour before Susan comes back. Go to that dress store on the next block over, the one neither of us could afford before all of this. Find you something cute and flirty, buy it, and put it on. When he asks? Tell him that he bought it. Wow him twice tonight.”

 

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

 

“ _ Doctor  _ Frederick Chilton,” he emphasized at the hostess upon his arrival. When the diminutive girl motioned for him to enter the closed restaurant after checking his name off of the list, Frederick took  a glass of champagne from the waitress inside the door. Just as he lifted it to take a drink, he spotted Rebecca through the window from the back of the dining room into the kitchen. 

Her hair was pinned in such a fashion as to pay homage to the iconic “Victory Roll” hairstyle from the 1940’s. The curls bounced as she gave last minute commands to the rest of her kitchen brigade. She shed her chef jacket and checked her hair and makeup in the metallic backsplash of a very hot stove.

He bit back a laugh when she stepped into the dining room, adjusted her shoulders until her back popped, and then hastily ordered a glass of cabernet from the bartender. 

Becca downed a third of the glass before she noticed Frederick across the dining room. She grinned and jogged over to him as best she could in four inch heels. “You made it!” she greeted, practically skating toward him. 

“Of course I did, my dear.” He slipped an arm around her waist and pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. Letting his hand slide along her back, he captured her hand in his and motioned for her to turn so he could see more of the forest green dress she sported. 

She set her drink down next to his on the table and let him twirl her around. Once she saw the dress in the store, she knew she had to have it. It was within budget, but the appeal didn’t stop there. The sheath dress with the high bateau neckline was not only the same color as her Mini, it was styled in a way that made it look like she’d stolen it from Christina Hendricks’ wardrobe from  _ Mad Men _ . 

“That dress looks amazing on you. I love it.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” She turned so the early few to the event in front of them couldn’t read her lips and gripped his shoulder. “Especially since  _ you _ bought it.” Becca bit back a giggle when she felt him exhale. After turning back around, she curled her fingers into the back of his tweed suit jacket. “May I present Camille Thomas and Henry McCoy,” she introduced with a nudge when the other couple moved close. “Camille, Henry? This is...” The corner of her mouth turned up in a grin. Did he get this same little thrill she did when introducing her? She could at least let him know that  _ she _ got that feeling. “... _ Doctor _ Frederick Chilton.”

Frederick shook both hands offered to him. “Pleasure.”

“Fred, dear, Camille is my best friend and sous chef. Henry is her other half.” Hearing her name called from the kitchen, she squeezed his hand. “Darling, our seats are with theirs. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can,” she apologized before darting back to her customary workspace. 

 

“Well done, my dear,” Chilton praised when Rebecca returned to their table. 

She dismissed her other half with a wave of her hand. “All I did was read off the cards in front of everyone that paired the wines with the dishes.”

“No,” Camille began, putting down her fork with a subtle wink in her friend’s direction. “You tasted those four wines and came up with four recipes to pair with them. I’ve been telling Henry since we got together that you’re a genius.” She started to lift a bite of the first dish to her lips before lowering it back to her plate. “And I just need to say that I need to know where you got your dress.”

Picking up the vibe her friend was laying down, she picked up her wine and took a sip.  “The dress came from Moosewood’s Boutique, the place around the corner.” She squeezed Frederick’s thigh under the table cloth.

“I hear you girls are taking a few days off together next week. Any joint plans? I’m sure Frederick and I’d both like to know,” Henry inquired after eating the wrong protein for the wine in question. 

Becca moved to correct him and stopped when her friend redirected him to the correct wine. “There’s a day that Camille and I’ll be together. The rest of the long weekend we’re being forced out of work because of these stupid renovations will be me spending time with Frederick. He managed to take time off.” She nudged Frederick’s shoulder with hers. “But he won’t tell me what we’re doing.”

“And ruin the surprise? Not a chance.”


	6. Chapter Six

_Don’t you worry, boy_  
_Take your time, don’t hurry_  
_You bring the ocean, I’ll bring emotion_  
_Together we’ll make a love potion_  
_You bring the ocean, I’ll bring the motion_ _  
Dancing all night in slow motion..._

 

Still unsure of exactly why she’d been instructed to put her bikini on underneath her choice of dress the next morning as they arrived at the marina, Becca slid out of Frederick’s Jaguar and held her bag close to her side.

“Come, my dear,” he instructed, proudly offering his arm. “This is ours.”

“I didn’t know you had a yacht, Frederick.”

“I don’t have a yacht...yet.” Bringing her aboard with nothing more than a gentlemanly embrace, he dropped his bag and kissed her cheek. “But I might consider buying one.”

She hesitantly rested her hand in the crook of his elbow. “I’ve driven a lot of things in my time: skid-loaders, tractors, a dump truck that one time, various cars… I rode an elephant at a circus once as a child, although I’m not sure if that counts for the purposes of this example. So, I really hope that you can steer this thing. I know I can’t.”

The sensation of long fingernails trailing over the inside of his forearm caused him to look down before answering. Her nails previously had been trimmed almost as close to the skin as humanly possible. Now, the rounded tip extended just past the tip of her finger. And they were painted (candy apple red), unlike any other time they’d been together. He hadn’t really noticed the night before, but he noticed now. She’d gone out of her way...on his tab most likely. But he’d show appreciation for that later. “My dear, I don’t have to know how to drive it.” He motioned up toward the top of the boat when a man in a pale yellow polo shirt and khaki shorts greeted them.

“I didn’t bring anything to cook…”

Ushering her onto the boat, Frederick cut her off with a laugh. “Is wondering where one’s next meal is coming from an occupational hazard among chefs…”

“I’m not worried about where _my_ next meal is coming from so much as _yours_.” Becca climbed up the ladder onto the deck. She dropped her purse and large tote bag onto the large table just inside the cabin area. “I know you like my cooking, and I like cooking for you. I hate the thought of letting you down.”

He smiled. “I do appreciate your concern and love your food. For future reference, if I invite you out somewhere? You aren’t expected to cook. The chef came with the boat, as did the person ‘driving’, and the gentleman that welcomed us aboard. The three of them mean you and I can do whatever we want for the day.” Putting his hands on her hips, he directed her gently toward the other end of the cabin and out onto the bow of the yacht that was slowly increasing speed out of the marina and into the Patapsco River.

She giggled childishly when he nibbled on her earlobe. “They assumed he was one of _them_ , heir to a railroad fortune perhaps. New money obviously, but still a member of the club,” she drawled, playfully fighting him off.

He rolled his eyes when he recognized the line. “What, no ‘I’m king of the world’?”

“Not yet. I haven’t had near enough alcohol for that.” With a contented sigh, she continued staring out over the water and relishing the comforting feeling of his arms around her. “You’ve got me on this yacht, Frederick. What are your plans for the day?” She whirled around at the sudden loss of his touch and  the sound of his retreating footsteps. Lowering her oversized sunglasses, she cocked an eyebrow.

Just inside the cabin, he popped the cork on a bottle of champagne.

Becca took the offered drink following his return to the deck.

“I’d like to propose a toast,” he began, holding up his glass. “To you, my dear.”

“To me?” she questioned, an obvious blush rising over her pale cheeks.

“Yes, to you. A month ago today, you walked in and sat at that table with me. You’ve given my waistline, my heart, and I quite the month. I haven’t felt this good about a relationship in a long time.”

She touched the rim of her champagne flute to his before leaning in for a kiss. “It has been quite the month. If I had it to do all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.” Scrunching her face into a half-squinting and half-pensive expression, she nodded her head. “I take that back. I’d take the night off from work so we could have talked longer that first day.”

He sat down on the canvas chaise-lounge, placed his glass on the nearby table, and motioned for her to join him. “That would have been lovely. God knows I could have listened to you talk about Avignon all day long.”

“Believe it or not, I did pick up on that,” Becca teased, squeezing his hand gently before resting her cheek against his linen-covered chest. “I saw your face when I quoted Voltaire.”

Frederick let out a contented sigh and began gently tracing circles on the exposed portion of her lower back while she lay against him. “I’ve never known the French language to be anything but beautiful, but somehow it is all the more lovely to hear spoken in your voice.”

She felt her cheeks flushing hot (and not entirely because of the midday sun) and snuggled closer to his side. “Be fair…”

“I don’t see how I can. But I don’t suppose I could trouble you for some more, could I?”

“Voltaire or French in general?”

“Either? Both? I don’t care. _Je ne_ care _pas_.”

Once she was done laughing, she readjusted so that he could rest his chin on top of her head. **“ _Tous les événements sont enchaînés dans le meilleur des mondes possibles; car enfin, si vous n’aviez pas été chassé d’un beau château à grands coups de pied dans le derrière pour l'amour de Mlle Cunégonde, si vous n'aviez pas été mis à l’Inquisition, si vous n'aviez pas donné un bon coup d'épée au baron, si vous n'aviez pas perdu tous vos moutons du bon pays d’Eldorado, vous ne mangeriez pas ici des cédrats confits et des pistaches. Cela est bien dit, répondit Candide, mais il faut cultiver notre jardin_.” She looked up at his face and shook her head. “What are you planning, my dear?”

“A trip to Paris,” he murmured contentedly.

“I’ll stow away in your suitcase.”

Pulling away from the embrace, he cocked an eyebrow and looked down at her. “You’ll do no such thing,” he countered, sounding almost offended. “You’ll be sitting right next to me in first class. I’ll be asking your recommendations on where to stay…”

“I know of this great old building less than a hundred meters from the Eiffel Tower on Avenue de Suffren. It’s also very close to the Musée d’Orsay.” Her lips formed a soft smile as she took another drink from her champagne. “I spent thirty minutes staring at ‘Starry Night Over the Rhône’ one day.” Transferring the glass to her left hand, she rested it on her shoulder and sighed contentedly. “Everyone makes a big deal about going to see the ‘Mona Lisa’ in the Louvre (which is closed on Tuesdays). I’ve seen it. Great. It’s a painting. But oh my _god_ , Frederick. I burst into tears when I saw Monet’s ‘Impression, soleil levant’. It’s _the_ painting that gave the name to the Impressionist movement…”

Frederick leaned back and listened to her rattle off the names of various painters and their works, fully aware that he was sporting that same dumb grin that always seemed to pop up whenever she started speaking French. His little historian was also an art lover, _naturellement_. He cursed himself internally after quickly coming to the realization that he’d gladly go all the way to the poor house if it meant that he could keep her that animated and passionate.

“I’m sorry. I-I went off into left field there,” Becca apologized quietly before trying and failing to gnaw on her fingernail. It’d been so long since she’d sported acrylic nails that she’d forgotten how hard they were.

“Don’t apologize, my dear. I could listen to you all day.” He sighed at the sight of one of the boat attendants trying to indicate that it was time for lunch out of the corner of his eye. Standing up reluctantly, he offered his hand. “I think they’re trying to tell us that meal you were worried about is ready. We can continue talking about a Paris trip and your emotional attachment to the Impressionists over lunch.”

She took his hand and followed him back into the main cabin of the yacht. “W-Wait, are you serious about Paris?”

“I could be. Tell me, oh wise one, when should we go?”

Dumbfounded, she slid into the chair across from him at the small table. Her heart was hammering against her chest as Camille’s words came back to her: “ _Hey, you could find someone on here, too. Maybe someone that’d take you back to Paris for the weekend. Y’know, for no other reason than they can.”_  “I can’t think of a bad time to go, really. Just...the Louvre is closed on Tuesdays.”

“You mentioned that.” He busied himself for a moment after his comment with his obnoxious, intricately rolled silverware. “What are you doing for the rest of this summer?”

Becca shoved a fork-full of salad into her mouth to cover up her shock. He was asking about the possibility of her taking a foreign trip. She couldn’t deny that she enjoyed his company. She certainly couldn’t deny that she was as desperate for France as a man dying of thirst would be for water. While she hadn’t let herself consider the future, Frederick certainly was. And in his mind, his future included her. “Going to Paris with you at some point?”

“I’ll put you in charge of the itinerary. If you want to go somewhere, name it and we will.”

“You’re serio… Oh my god.” Pushing herself out of her chair, she nearly tripped over her own two feet in her rush to his side. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. ”Thank you!”                                

“I’ve been to France, but it’s never put a smile on my face like it does yours,” he stated with a laugh. “Maybe I’ve just ‘done’ France incorrectly. I’m sure you can mend the error of my ways.”

 

The rest of lunch centered around talk of the French vacation (happening in August, due mostly to Frederick’s schedule). She’d sold him on renting a car and driving to Avignon. He was trying to work on her to stay at a hotel, not renting an apartment on AirBnB. He had some work still to do, but he was hopeful. He’d rather stay at the famous George V hotel than a stranger’s apartment.

Once the dishes had been cleared away, Frederick led her back out into the sun.

“Thank you, dear.”

“For what?” He resumed his pre-lunch position on the chaise-lounge.

“For today. For the trip you’re letting me plan. I…” With her back to the deck, she fingered the strap of the white dress with navy accents she’d picked up just for the weekend before sliding the garment over her head. “Could I ask a favor of you, Frederick?”

“Of course.”

She grabbed the bottle of suntan lotion she’d brought and sat down in front of him.

Wordlessly, he took the bottle and squirted some of the tropical-scented lotion into his hand. He scooted up close behind her and began to apply it to her lower back. “I’m excited to see what you are going to come up with for this trip,” he purred, pressing kisses to the back of her neck.

Becca jumped slightly when she felt _something_ poking at her tailbone, but let him continue applying the lotion to her back. She knew exactly what he was up to. Once he’d finished, she turned around and kissed him back with her hands on his hips. “How do you want me, Frederick?”

“Are you giving me _carte blanche_?”

“Well, you _are_ taking me to France…” she shrugged and pulled the zipper down on his fly. “I owe you. We've never had sex on a boat before. Let's add that to our repertoire.” She rolled down the long chair until she was on her stomach with her back to the afternoon sun.

When she licked a stripe from his base to his tip, Frederick squeezed her shoulder.

“Do I need to stop?”

He reluctantly pushed her away. “I trust you can wait long enough...for us to retire to the…”

“If I can’t?” Becca retorted. “If I want to continue with what I’m doing right here on this chair?”

“I…” Frederick bit his lip and threw his head back when she did just what she threatened. He’d gotten himself off to a shockingly similar scenario once. The thought of a pretty young thing giving him a blowjob on the deck of a yacht was enough to make him join the site. He’d expected to buy a few baubles and receive some semi-meaningless sex from a woman half his age before she landed a good job and ended the relationship. He hadn’t expected someone like Rebecca Mavourneen. He hadn’t expected to meet someone that valued his input, wanted his approval, and took the relationship seriously. He certainly hadn’t anticipated gaining four pounds because one of his matches happened to be a chef.

...And before he knew it, she pulled aside her bikini bottoms and sank down onto him. “D-Darling, we’re not using…”

“I got it covered.”

He wasn’t sure exactly what she meant by that, but the sensation of having her with nothing between them was simply indescribably wonderful. It made him feel a sense of power that he hadn’t in a while. Pulling her against him, he maneuvered them so that he was on top. “Now now, I can’t have you doing _all_ the work,” he growled. The combination of her fingernails on his back and her walls tightening around him? He wasn’t going to last much longer.

She dug her nails into his back when her own release came.

And that’s what did it for him -- the nails and the way she called out his name (clearly not remembering that anyone else was on the boat. He followed her over the edge.

Once they were both suitably clothed again, she sat in his lap. “Which was better, on a yacht or your office?”

“Here. By a mile.” Wrapping his arms around her waist, he tilted his face up and kissed her.

She hummed her agreement. “I know why I prefer it, but I'm curious about your reasoning.”

Frederick smiled warmly and stroked her cheek. “Sunshine, a warm breeze, and a gorgeous woman in a bikini trumps fluorescent lighting and a hospital full of insane criminals any day. You?”

“While you look dashing in a suit, I prefer you like this.”

“What, in shorts?”

“A little. You _do_ have nice legs.” Becca laughed softly and shook her head. “In a suit, you’re more tense. You’re in work mode. You’re _Doctor Chilton_ . But in casual mode, you’re relaxed. You’re comfortable. You let yourself have that goofy grin when I start going off in French. You put your arms around me. You make fun of me for making a _Titanic_ reference. You kiss my hand and buy me bracelets at farmers markets.”

“And who am I in ‘casual mode’?”

Carding her fingers through his thick hair, she kissed him again. “Just...Fred. My Fred. And I especially love making that part of you happy. So I’m glad you prefer this to your office.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a long overdue present for Tumblr user abrasivepersonalitytendersoul. She suggested the song for this chapter, "St. Croix" by Family of the Year, as well as the idea of "floating sin".
> 
> Also in this chapter is another quote from Voltaire, this time from "Candide". Translation:  
> **"There is a concatenation of all events in the best of possible worlds; for, in short, had you not been kicked out of a fine castle for the love of Miss Cunegund; had you not been put into the Inquisition; had you not traveled over America on foot; had you not run the Baron through the body; and had you not lost all your sheep, which you brought from the good country of El Dorado, you would not have been here to eat preserved citrons and pistachio nuts."
> 
> "Excellently observed," answered Candide; "but let us cultivate our garden."


	7. Chapter Seven

_She’s got eyes of the bluest skies_   
_As if they thought of rain_   
_I hate to look into those eyes_   
_And see an ounce of pain_   
_Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place_   
_Where as a child I’d hide_   
_And pray for the thunder_   
_And the rain_ _  
_ To quietly pass me by...

  


“Frederick?” she inquired, shocked at his presence outside her apartment door. She knew he was coming back from his conference in Boston today, but he hadn’t mentioned any plans of stopping by. “What are you doing…”

“You’re upset with me,” he began. He stepped into her residence and produced a bouquet of hyacinths from behind his back. “You’ve barely spoken to me since I left. When you did, you were distant. I’m not sure what I’ve done, but I want to apologize.”

Rebecca’s eyes widened. She held up a hand to stop him from coming any closer. Grabbing an old towel from her pile of laundry to be folded on the old, blue sofa, she wrapped it around the peace offering...and immediately tossed them down the stairwell.

_“Hell hath no fury” and all, but…_ He opened his mouth to protest the harsh treatment of his gift...until he looked at her face again. He heard her suddenly begin to gasp for breath and watched her make a beeline for her purse.

With a shaking hand, she yanked the cap off of her EpiPen and jabbed herself in her (mercifully, she’d worn shorts) bare thigh.

He rushed to her side, taking the spent emergency medication from her and setting it on her coffee table.

Becca pointed toward the postage stamp-sized kitchen. “Garbage bags under sink,” she rasped. “Your clothes -- in the bag. Bag on fire escape. Shower. Then hospital,” she wheezed in a break in her coughing fit.

Under ordinary circumstances, Doctor Frederick Chilton would have balked at such a request. But these circumstances were hardly normal. The woman that he had begun to care deeply about was currently wheezing and staggering through her apartment and throwing open every window. Instead, he stripped down to his birthday suit, grabbed his suitcase from its resting place inside her door, and ran to shower. In order to get the last traces of his gift that almost resulted in Rebecca’s anaphylactic shock off of him, he didn’t bother to get his own toiletries from his luggage. Instead, he jumped under the scalding shower water and grabbed the...organic strawberry-scented, hand-milled soap she’d been getting at the farmer’s market. He loved the combination of the soap and her equally feminine shampoo _on her_ , but soaped up his washcloth anyway. _At least she’s not allergic to this_.

She weakly handed him her keys when he re-entered the living room. “As your car might result in me needing a second EpiPen that I don’t have, we’ll have to take mine. I am in _no_ shape to drive myself.”

 

“My dear, I’m so sorry. When you said that you didn’t ‘do’ flowers, I never would have imagined that it was because of an allergy,” he offered softly when they finally got back to her tiny apartment several hours later. Frederick helped her into some comfortable pajamas and then into her bed. He kissed her hair and grabbed his cell phone. “Why don’t I order us something to eat? You need to take it easy.”

Over her stern objections, he shut the bedroom door behind him and stepped into the kitchen. He dropped his phone onto the counter by her positively ancient stove and exhaled sharply. Some men get out of the dog house with flowers; others send their significant others to the emergency room. He had to mentally go back to med school and run through the seven pages of notes he took on emergency after-care of using an EpiPen on the drive over and used the memories to keep a close watch on her.

The sight of his little spitfire slumped against his side with labored breathing in a cold emergency room chair broke his heart. He kept his arms around her the whole time they were waiting. With his thoughtless floral purchase, he’d single-handedly taken her from perky to near death. When the E.R. doctor came to examine her, Frederick stepped up and did all the talking...after the disclaimer “I’m  a M.D., but in psychiatry”. He’d given the other doctor her heart rate before she’d even gotten the cuff on. He never let go of her hand through the whole process.

_I need her_ was the thought that made him drop the phone onto the countertop. He shouldn’t feel this way...but he did. He shouldn’t feel like he should spend his last cent on a security fence around her. After all, this whole thing was supposed to be about him getting off in a sense. That’s the whole reason he signed up for the site. Unfortunately for him, the little angel that made it past the initial meeting and wormed her way under his skin turned out to be the answer to his prayers. God help him, he had feelings for her like he hadn’t had about a woman in a long time.

And he wasn’t remotely sorry.

He rifled through the takeout menus on her kitchen counter until he found the menu for the Indian place she requested. Ordering quickly, he scoured through the cabinets and found plates, silverware, and glasses. “Dinner should be here in half an hour,” Frederick announced as he walked back into the bedroom.

Becca closed her sticker-covered laptop and set it on her nightstand before motioning for him to join her on the small double bed.

He turned the hand she was holding and brought her fingers to his lips. “Allow me to make the apology on behalf of the flower that nearly killed you?”

“Fred, I… You don’t even know what you were apologizing for.”

“My dear, I upset you. I need to make amends.” He kissed her hair, silently urging her to lie down with him. “Whatever I might have said or done, I never meant to make you feel wronged.”

“I know,” she breathed. “It was a comment that I don’t think was even meant for my ears…”

“Tell me.”

 

_Frederick followed Rebecca into the third floor apartment after dinner. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t get to stay the night after seeing her place for the first time. His flight to Boston left early the next morning, and it was all he could do to will himself out of bed with her to go to the office...let alone be gone for four days._

_He dropped his hands from her waist and looked around the minuscule space that she called a living room. Every piece of furniture was mismatched and appeared to come from a thrift shop. The drywall next to the bedroom door had a popped seam. The place appeared to be physically clean, but…_

_...the sooner I get her out of her and into my house, the better I'll feel._

 

“You said ‘the sooner I get her out of here and into my house, the better I’ll feel’,” Becca whispered, lifting her head from its resting place on his tee shirt-covered chest.

“Oh my god… I’ll admit to thinking it, but I swear to all that is holy that I never meant to say it aloud.” Pushing a bit of hair behind her ear, he brought his hand back to cup her cheek. “My dear…”

“This isn’t the greatest neighborhood or the greatest apartment. I know,” she interrupted. “Trust me, when you have to go from Mom and Dad helping out with the rent to no help rather suddenly? That shit is painful. I leased this place back when this was all I could afford.”

“What happened? You’ve only mentioned your father a handful of times. I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned your mother.”

“I had a falling out with my mother toward the end of my freshman year of college. She and I haven’t spoken since. My father and I have only spoken twice. The Reader’s Digest version is that I severed ties with the two of them.” Rolling onto her back, she stared up at the white concrete ceiling she’d been living under for just over three years.

Frederick began to gently stroke her forearm in a silent show of support.

“You know that I’ve worked my ass off for everything that I have now, darling. I know that you admire me for that. So to have you say that you want to get me out of here, felt like none of it mattered to you.”

“I just want you safe and happy,” he admitted in a saddened whisper.

“That’s just it: I am. I do what I love and get paid for it. I have you. This isn’t a bad neighborhood necessarily. It’s just old. I care about you, Fred. I value your opinion. But darling, anything below the Waldorf Astoria is sub-standard for you.” She stood up and gestured at the one bedroom apartment around her. “What if I walked into your house and said ‘I’ve been to Biltmore, and this house has room for improvement?” She paused to take a breath, and shook her head instead of continuing with her planned statement. “I’m sorry, darling. This little place isn’t exactly my idea of heaven, but it’s what I’ve got. I didn’t want to argue with you on the phone, so I held this all in. It turned into something much more than...”

“Stop, stop,” Frederick interjected, rising and tentatively resting his hands on her hips. “You have nothing to apologize for. I upset you. It would seem I have a lot to make up for. Tell me how to atone for my sins.”

“Stay with me tonight,” Becca whispered after a moment. “I need you to hold me.”

“Of course. I won’t leave your side...”

They both laughed when someone knocked on the front door.

“...after I get our food.”

 

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

 

Frederick rolled over and was met with the cool, empty spot where Becca had slept the night before. Due to her allergy attack, her morning run would be reduced to a walk around the block. It did cut down on morning snuggles and sex, but he understood why she went running.

 

_“Stay,” he pleaded, sleepily gripping her arm from his position on his bed the third time she slept over._

_“Fred, you have to let me go.” Becca bent down and kissed his hand. “I’ve been putting it off, but if we’re really going to be spending this many nights together… My mornings are going to have to include running. There’s a reason I can eat my own cooking and not gain weight, and only part of that has to do with me trying the half marathon at the ‘Rock and Roll D.C.’ event next year.”_

_“What does one day matter?”_

_“As much as I’d like to think that my legs were magical, they’re not. That tone you feel is the result of me working. You’re more than welcome to come out with me and be my human stopwatch.”_

 

And to his credit, Fred had tagged along that Saturday a few weeks earlier. He’d sat on a bench in the park and read a potentially relevant case study. After looking at his phone, she’d done five miles in...a shockingly quick time.

But at the moment, Frederick Chilton wasn’t thinking about the training plan she’d outlined to get her to the the thirteen point one mile mark in the car on the way back to his house. His focus was entirely on his other half’s anatomy -- specifically her legs. If she didn’t think her legs were magical, he sure as shit did. He could spend a day doing nothing but kissing her from ankle to hip.

And then there was the magical sensation borne from her muscular thighs wrapped either around his waist or over his shoulders. Either way, the feeling of her muscles flexing around his own anatomy was positively intoxicating. Her thighs quickly became her greatest tell…

“Fred?”

He quickly jerked his hand away from where it’d come to rest on his crotch and closed his eyes.

“Darling, you were moaning …” she trailed off as she entered the room, biting her lip to keep from smiling. Stripping off her pink tank top, she climbed back into the bed with him. “Were you thinking about me?”

“Yes,” he admitted in a whisper.

“I’m flattered.” Becca pulled off her sports bra, running shorts, and underwear before laying down next to him. “Now what were you thinking about?”

“Y-Your legs, thighs specifically. Wrapped around me. Around my waist…over my shoulders.”

She hummed her amusement and applied a gentle pressure to his shoulder to push him over onto his back in the middle of her small double bed. “Like this?”

“Darling, I don’t have time…”

“Call in sick.”

“What?”

“You picked up something at your conference.” Becca grabbed her phone from the nightstand, pressed the screen a few times, and flipped it so he could see. “I’ve told my boss that I had to go to the E.R.  last night because I had to use my EpiPen. I’ve been advised by my doctor to stay home and rest.”

_Feel better soon!_

Frederick’s eyes rolled back in his head when she began pressing kisses down the side of his neck. “Let me guess, I’m your personal physician.”

“That _was_ my plan.”

“And what about the rest of the day?”

“Stay in bed for a while...watch Netflix...I could make lunch wearing only my new pair of shoes.” Her trail of kisses jumped down to just below his navel. She pushed his tee shirt up to reveal a portion of skin and nipped at his hip with her teeth. “Maybe talk about our trip?”

He palmed at the nightstand until his hand found his half-charged phone.

When she heard the line ringing, her kisses changed direction again. She laughed softly against the heated skin of his partially covered inner thigh.”

“Roll over,” he urged gently after making an excuse to his secretary and ending the call. “Given the events of yesterday, I don't want to risk you over exerting yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear that I'll eventually get around to tying the show into this. Maybe two and a half or three more chapters until then? As always, the playlist is here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLjgjKHy4ofeAHvQkrpl_Ar_raooZyfPD8


	8. Chapter Eight

_ Sous le ciel de Paris _ __   
_ S’envole une chanson _ __   
_ Hum hum _ __   
_ Elle est née d’aujhourd’hui _ __   
_ Dans le cœur d’un garçon _ __   
_ Sous le ciel de Paris _ __   
_ Marchent des amoreux _ __   
_ Hum hum _ __   
_ Leur bonheur se construit _ _   
_ __ Sur un air fait pour eux...

 

**Two months later…**

 

Glass of merlot in hand, Becca leaned back into the mechanical massaging pedicure chair and reveled in the sensation of human thumbs digging into the arches of her foot...and then her phone chimed to alert her to a text. 

“ _ When are you coming over? _ ”

_ My luggage (and your present) is in my car. I had a stop to make before I came over. Give me an hour and a half? _

Flipping her phone over face-down, she took a sip of the wine the salon gave her and eyed her newly-painted and filled in acrylic fingernails. She grinned and shook her head. 

Frederick would inevitably pretend not to notice the new color that adorned her finger and toenails -- as close as she could get to the blue of the French flag. He always noticed what new little thing she bought either with the cash or the credit card he’d given her. He’d acknowledge the item only after she asked if he approved.

“ _ What kind of stop?? _ ”

_ Darling, I told you that I was going to get my nails done today. I’m currently in a massaging chair getting pampered.  _

“ _ That’s right. You did. I’ll see you when you get here. Just don’t tarry too long. There is a car coming for us. _ ”

_ I remember. It’ll be worth your wait, handsome. I just want to look my best for our trip.  _

 

“Fred,” Becca began with an eyeroll as she followed him into his bedroom just over an hour later with the glass of wine he’d greeted her with. “Apart from the fact that both you and my pedicurist are trying to get me loaded before I get on the plane… We’re leaving for Paris. Why are you getting me a present?” She covered her eyes instinctively when he stepped into the large closet. He’d been in her life for just over three months, and she felt as if she’d known him for years. He loved surprising her with gifts. She also knew that the more excited she was, the happier he’d be. 

“Says the woman that is going to Paris with me and still got me a gift. As a chef, I think you’d be familiar with the saying ‘pot calling the kettle black’.” He sat the large, oddly shaped package down on the bed. “The wine is a celebration, the first of hopefully many trips together. Besides, it’s not like either of us is driving to the airport.”

“I haven’t given you anything yet.”

“You can open your eyes now, Pot.”

She slowly opened one eye until she realized the gift was wrapped. At his urging, she slowly approached the large bed and peeled back the edge of the white wrapping paper. “Holy shit,” she whispered as the last of the paper fell away to reveal a Louis Vuitton carry-on legal bag. “F-Fred, I…”

“I’ve learned to be careful about my choice in flowers for you.” Frederick moved in and nudged his shoulder against hers. “Plus, I’ve seen the state of your bag. A trip of this importance deserves…” His thought was interrupted by familiar arms around his neck. 

“It’s beautiful, and I love it.”

“And I’m sure you’ll show me how you can get two weeks worth of clothes into that bag, right?” he laughed.

“With room for souvenirs.” Becca reached down into her questionably large second carry-on / purse and produced a rectangular package. 

He untied the thick ribbon encircling her gift and gently removed the tissue paper. Underneath the paper lay a stack of books. “ Bescherelle: La conjugasion ,” he read off the cover of the first red book. Flipping it open to a random place in the middle, he found himself face to face with the complete conjugations of “to drive” and “to laugh”. The second book was almost a mirror image of the first… “ La grammaire . ‘ _Qu’est-_ ce qu’un _mot? La_ combinaison d’une _forme et_ d’un _sens..._ ’”

She fought back a wince at her other half’s rusty pronunciation. Standing on her tiptoes, she wrapped her arms around his waist from behind and rested her chin on his shoulder. When he discovered the third and final book in the stack, she bit her lip.

“Voltaire,” he whispered. 

“Flip to the last page.”

Frederick followed her instructions...and was rewarded with a simple, crude drawing of a boat below the final paragraph. Even with his rusty command of the French language, he immediately recognized the ending as what she recited for him on the yacht. He placed the items on the bed next to the designer duffel bag and turned around to face her. “My dear…”

“Just in case you wanted to brush up before we land. It  _ is  _ a good bit of reading material, but I happen to know someone that can help you with it...should you want to learn.”

Before answering, he kissed her softly. “I want to learn all I can from you.”

“It starts with the tried-and-true immersion technique.”

“Darling, I won’t survive if you stop speaking English the moment we land. Please…”

“ _ Peut-être. Il est possible que je serai agréable… _ ” When he began to protest, Becca giggled. “I’ll make you a deal, Fred. Our conversations will be in English, but you have to attempt anything else in French. I’ll step in if I need to.”

“You, madam, are a cruel mistress.”

“ _ Mais tu avais dit ‘je voudrais… _ ’”

“I…  _ Je connais que je… que j’avais dit. _ ”

She shook her head and waved him away. “On second thought, just let me do all the talking. We’ll start working on your language skills when we get back.”

 

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

 

Frederick waved her away with a smile and lifted the Louis Vuitton he’d bought her up into the overhead bin next to his suitcase as they boarded their connecting flight from JFK to Charles de Gaulle. “Next time, I’m getting you a rolling suitcase. My dear, you just beat someone in the head with this thing.”

“I’m better with suitcases,” Becca groaned. “I’ve never taken a duffel bag on a plane before. I’ve checked one, but…”

Gesturing for her to take the seat next to the window, he slid in beside her. He buckled his seatbelt, produced a thick novel from his own bag, and began to read after she mashed her huge tote bag under the seat in front of her. Out of the corner of his eye, he happened to catch a glimpse of his other half shoving earbuds into her ears and pressing something on the screen of her phone. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. She was a nervous flier. He never would have guessed. 

She’d breezed through security at BWI like a pro. Her liquid makeup products were professionally separated from the rest of her makeup in a specialized bag from Sephora. She sported a nice pair of skinny jeans, sports bra, tank top, and hiking sandals to speed up getting through security. She never once consulted a map or kiosk, but led them to their gate expertly. Fred smiled. His passport had many more stamps on it than his burgeoning princess, but one wouldn’t know it by watching the cat-like speed of her movements. 

Until now. 

Until her hand started to tremble as the plane began backing away from the gate. He reached over and folded his hand over hers. “Rebecca?” he whispered softly.

She ripped out her right earbud and forced it into his hand. “Don’t judge me too harshly, Fred. I get nervous during takeoff and landing. I don’t really know how, but this helps.”

He wanted to laugh when he recognized John Williams’ iconic “Raiders March” from the  _ Indiana Jones _ films. He almost did until he caught sight of her right index and middle fingers making the slightest motions, almost as if they were conducting an imaginary orchestra. 

When the plane came to a stop on the runway and extended and rescinded the wing flaps, she restarted the song. She leaned back in the seat and let out a deep breath at the sensation of the plane vibrating from the engines spooling up.

Frederick bit back a wince when her hand closed around his like a vice as they began picking up speed for takeoff. Mercifully, she loosened her grip when the plane left the ground at the key change. 

“I’ll be fine,” Becca assured, resting her head on his shoulder and breathing deeply. “I’m sorry, Fred.”

He gently freed his hand from her grip and put an arm around her shoulders. “Why are you sorry?” he inquired through a soft chuckle. 

“Because… I… I’m a college-educated woman that reacts to an airplane taking off more severely than to clowns. Fun story: I'm scared to death of clowns.”

“So I have to hold your hand during takeoff, and I won't hire a clown for our child’s birthday party...” 

As the plane climbed higher through the clouds, she paused the music and removed the headphones. “ _ Our child _ ?” she injected.

He froze. Suddenly, she wasn't the only terrified person in their row. When her lips curved up into a small smile, so did his. 

“So I'm ‘mother of your hypothetical children’ material, eh?”

“The thought has crossed my mind…”

“It’s a good thought.” Becca leaned back into the seat, seeming to forget her fears for a moment. “We’d make some pretty good-looking, spoiled kids.”

“We would indeed,” Frederick capitulated with a laugh. “God help me if they inherit their mother’s irresistible pout.”

“God help  _ you _ indeed. I’ll say no, and they’ll come running to you. Then we’ll have a pony and a small stable in the backyard in half an hour.”

“I wish I could dispute any part of that, but I can’t.” He paused when the captain interrupted the conversation to announce the fact that they’d arrived at cruising altitude. “You’ve officially made it through takeoff. We’re holding pretty much steady at thirty-seven thousand feet.”

“And we aren't dead.” She produced a thick novel from her carry on. “That beverage cart can come around whenever. I  _ really _ need an adult beverage.”

 

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

 

_ I have to hand it to her _ , Frederick reluctantly admitted to himself as he took in the interior of the flat she’d rented through AirBnB a few hours later. It was the exact location she mentioned on the yacht excursion. He still wasn’t sure how she’d lucked into  _ that _ . From the outside, the building blended in with much of Parisian architecture. 

The inside? While Rebecca made a beeline for the bedroom to drop her luggage and freshen up, he nonchalantly dropped his cases at his side and looked around the apartment that was the size of his front entrance and living room combined. The crown moulding and fireplace were testaments to the building’s age. The living room furnishings were undoubtedly French. The “kitchenette” could be hidden by closing a curtain and consisted of a two burner stove, toaster oven, sink, mini-fridge, and electric tea kettle. He could see the Eiffel Tower from the sofa...

“Frederick,” Becca called from the bedroom, shattering his musings. “Could I borrow you for just a second?”

He yawned, dabbing at the corner of his eye and making his way toward his lover’s voice. “Oh… Oh my god,” he whispered when she stepped into the doorway (blocking his access to the bedroom) wearing a babydoll consisting of very thin, navy blue lace and matching thong. Not only that, but she’d added a smoky touch to her eye makeup and donned a white pair of stilettos.

She tugged at the hem of his polo shirt. Pulling it over his head, she tossed it across the room. “Figured I’d start with the basics of you ‘doing’ France properly.”

He reached for the silk bow holding the sheer front of the garment closed, only to be pushed down onto the bed behind him. 

She guided his hand toward the loose end of the bow. “ _ Liberté _ ,” she whispered as he pulled it loose. Kissing her way down his chest, she bent her right knee to bring her white shoe with it’s trademark red sole into his line of sight. “ _ Égalité et fraternité _ .  _ Bienvenue à Paris _ , Fred.”**

 

His brain re-gelled when the back of his head hit the pillow a few minutes later. He stripped off the used condom and dropped it into the trash can by the bed. “Welcome to Paris, I know,” he muttered sleepily, waving her away with a satisfied smile. 

She rolled her eyes and pulled the lightweight covers up over both of them. “You might want to take your crystal ball in for repairs.”

“Mmm. You already said that then, I think.” Frederick chuckled, gently scratching her bare back after pulling her into his embrace. 

“Yes I did, just before you begged me to…” Becca’s thought trailed off.

“Your thoughts on the rest of the day?”

“Shower and head out,” she offered before dropping her forehead onto his chest. “We can grab something to eat and some supplies for tonight and the car journey tomorrow after.”

“Any chance we could perhaps save the shopping for tomorrow?”

“Bare minimum? We can get everything close by.  _ Nous sommes dans le seizième arrondissement,  _ darling.”

This was  _ definitely _ going to be a costly venture.

 

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

 

On the extreme outskirts of Lyon, Becca pulled over for gas the next day. The combination of Paris traffic and all of the construction had been murder on her legs (even with the flappy paddle gearbox of the convertible F-type Jaguar rental). 

“Why don’t you let me drive for a while, darling? You can be in charge of the GPS and direct me.”

“Are you sure that you can…”

“...Drive the modern version of my own car? Yes.”

She tossed him the keys after returning the fuel nozzle to the pump. “Fred, you’re gonna love driving this.”

“I know.” Frederick slid into the driver’s seat with a grin and started the car. “I test drove one of these at the dealership before I confirmed the rental.”

“So you let me twist in the wind…”

“Over the one thing you left in my control? Darling, I don’t know half of what you’ve planned. The only thing I do know is that this whole thing is on my American Express.” 

“Your tone leads me to believe that you’re not complaining.”

“Never,” he reassured, pairing his phone with the Bluetooth in the luxury rental. He pulled away from the pump as the sound of a classic rock song that predated him began to pour from the high-end speakers. 

Becca grinned when she recognized the opening melody of the song. As her other half merged onto the motorway, she threw her head back and giggled. 

_ There’s a road I’d like to tell you about, lives in my home town _

_ Lake Shore Drive the road is called and it’ll take you up or down _

_ From rats up onto riches, fifteen minutes you can fly... _

Pulling her hair down out of the ponytail it’d been in all day, she shook her head and let the wind swirl her long hair around her face.

_...Pretty blue lights along the way, help you right on by _

_ And the blue lights shining with a heavenly grace, help you right on by… _

_ “And there ain’t no road just like it Anywhere I found. Runnin’ south on Lake Shore Drive heading into town Just slippin’ on by on LSD, Friday night trouble bound, _ ” she sang loudly over the wind and road noise. 

He folded his hand over hers “ _ And it starts up north from Hollywood, water on the drivin’ side. Concrete mountains rearing up, throwing shadows just about five… _ ”

“ _ Sometimes you can smell the green if your mind is feelin’ fine. There ain’t no finer place to be, than running Lake Shore Drive _ ,” they sang in unison.

While she kept up her part of the vocals (mostly because she’d known the song since childhood), Becca couldn’t help but marvel a bit. She’d spoken at length about a lot of subjects with Frederick in the three and a half months they’d been in each other’s lives, but clearly they hadn’t spoken enough about music. Clearly this needed to be remedied. “Did I ever tell you that I can play this song on the piano?” she practically shouted.

“I didn’t know you played!”

“I told you I did the day we met. You must’ve forgotten. I had lessons from the ages of five to seventeen. And I practiced four times a week in college.”

“You’ve never played mine.”

She fidgeted with the onyx and pearl ring he gave her after she bested him at chess. “Do you have any idea how out of tune yours is?”

“No, actually. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I know how much a piano tuner charges, a good one anyway. I can’t have you drop a couple grand…”

“I’ll ask my mother for her tuner’s phone number once we get back. You’re a phenomenal cook with no formal training. I can’t wait to hear what you can do with twelve years of lessons.”

She looked at her nails and shook her head. “While her tuning person does their magic, I’ll be prying these nails off in the other room. I can’t play the piano with acrylic nails. Trust me. I tried after my senior prom.”

“Darling, I wouldn’t ask you to…”

“If you’re spending the money, Fred, the least I can do is provide value for it. You deserve the best ‘Moonlight Sonata’ I can provide.”

Frederick moved one hand from the steering wheel to grip one of hers. “Your favorite.”

“ _ That _ you remember,” she chuckled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm cutting this chapter short (to be continued in the next one) so that I can get an update in before I start NaNoWriMo. The link for the playlist is in the previous chapter. The songs for this chapter are Edith Piaf's "Sous le ciel de Paris" and "Lake Shore Drive" by Aliotta Haynes Jeremiah. 
> 
> Like I said last time, I swear I will get to incorporating season two of the show into this. Soon. 
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me.
> 
> **"The three colours are occasionally taken to represent the three elements of the revolutionary motto, liberté (freedom: blue), égalité (equality: white), fraternité (brotherhood: red)..."


	9. Chapter Nine

From the moment they arrived in Avignon until they arrived back in Paris three days later, Frederick was content to play the clueless tourist to Rebecca’s guide. He contentedly let her drone on and on as she led him on tours of the Palais de Papes, Avignon Cathedral, and Pont d’Avinon. He’d been to the medieval city as a child. His new tour guide pointed out the same ancient Roman aqueducts that his mother did decades earlier. 

But his mother hadn’t lived in a tiny apartment there like Rebecca had. She certainly didn’t greet the local food merchants by name and get hugged in return. The entire thing was a completely new experience for him, and he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

 

“Fred...” Becca started, balking at the sight of the iconic Parisian storefront mere feet from her from the comfort of the limousine  “...this is… Let’s just get back in the car.”

“We’ll do no such thing. I know you. Do you think I’d let you leave Paris without a trip to the Chanel flagship store?”

She pushed a bit of hair behind her ear and grabbed his hand before he opened the car door. “I’ve seen the exterior. That’s plenty for me.”

He instructed the driver to wait in accented French before coaxing her out of the car. “Whatever you want.” Smiling when she clearly didn’t hear him, he followed her into the store. Frederick bit back a laugh when words in two languages failed his other half. 

“I could potentially triple your trip budget here.”

“Don’t worry.”

After a few minutes of looking but not touching, she gave in to temptation and picked up one of the classic flap bags. She gently touched the soft, quilted lambskin exterior reverently before putting it back on the table. 

“If you like it, get it,” Frederick whispered. He chuckled at the realization he’d startled her. 

Becca waved him away, especially when he picked up the purse again. “Easier said than done, especially when you’re holding a five thousand dollar bag.”

“I said to get whatever you want.”

“What part of ‘five thousand dollar bag’ do…”

He handed her a small beige and orange scarf from a shelf in the next room. “And this would go nicely with that. Trust me.”

 

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

 

“Darling, the suitcases are all by the door. I think we’re…” Frederick stopped suddenly as he stepped into the sitting room from the foyer. As he took the last case out to the foyer in preparation for their ride back to Charles de Gaulle, he’d seen her step out onto the balcony and take a phone call reluctantly. 

Becca sat up straight from her previously slumped position on the black canvas sofa, trying (and failing) to hide the fact that she was crying. “Then let’s head out.”

“Not when you’re upset.” He sat down beside her and put his hand on her knee for reassurance. “I don’t want you coming home from this vacation with anything but that  _ gorgeous  _ tan and a smile on your face.”

Laughing despite herself, she accepted his offered handkerchief and blotted under her eyes gently. “That’s sweet of you.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “Unfortunately, I don’t think this is going to be something you and I can solve on a couch in Paris or anywhere.”

“Let the professional be the judge?”

“The restaurant, as always, closed on Monday,” she began slowly before letting out a sniffle. “Everything was fine when everyone left Sunday night, but then they got there this morning to padlocked doors and a notice on the door saying that the business had been seized pursuant to a criminal court order. The local news stations say it’s a money laundering case.” Becca fanned her face in an effort to keep more tears from falling before bringing up the article on her phone and handing the device to him. “Fred, I’m unemployed. I can pay for the rent that’s due in a week, Netflix, and half the internet bill. I’m pretty sure I’m not gonna get paid the $918.75 I get every two weeks now, even though they said they’d pay me for my time off because I never take any. Anything that you’ve given me has gone to buy something, like a dress or shoes. I’m out on my ass. I don’t know what to do, apart from using that Chanel bag for...” she rambled off in rapid succession.

“From what I see, you have a few choices,” he interrupted. “For starters, I can help you with your expenses while you look for a new job.” Frederick dismissed her initial scoff of the idea. “It’s not like I can’t afford it...”

“I know. It’s just a big commitment. That, and I don’t like the thought of coming to you with my hand out just to live. I’m very much used to earning my own way.”

“...or you could just come live with me.” When her jaw fell open in response, he took her hand in his. “The very first time we spoke, I floated the possibility as well as my desire for it.”

“I know that, too, but that commitment is even bigger than just the money.” She looked down at her shoes for a moment before continuing. “It’s one thing to have a kept woman on the side. It’s another thing entirely when she’s living with you. That sends quite a statement. It’s a big milestone in any relationship, and I’d hate to cheapen it just for a place to stay while I look for a new job.”

“You don’t have to look for a job,” he added softly, scared she’d refuse that, too.

“What?”

“I wanted you to know that avenue was open to you, too, but I didn’t want you to reject it like the others.”

Becca withdrew her hand from his and moved to sit on his lap with her legs dangling perpendicular to his. “I’m not rejecting anything, hon. Everything you’ve just offered involves serious commitment. It wouldn’t be casual anymore. I just want to make sure you’ve thought it out.”

“I have actually been giving this some serious thought recently. It’s been on my mind since we first spoke of this trip on the yacht.” Frederick wrapped his arms around her waist. “You’re the person I dreamed I’d meet through the site. Never in a million years would I have thought you’d be real...let alone mine.”

She kissed his forehead and gently ran her fingers through his thick, dark hair. 

“After dinner last night when we were walking back here, I decided that I was going to ask you to move in with me.” He chuckled softly. “I was planning to ask you after sex, as you’d be more likely to say yes.”

“You’re horrible,” she laughed, playfully swatting his shoulder. 

“And there’s that smile again.” He leaned up and kissed her softly. “Taking care of you would be the greatest honor.”

“We have a long flight home,” she stated before standing and offering him a hand up. “Since you’ve had the opportunity to carefully consider this, I trust you won’t begrudge me doing the same.”

“What kind of partner would I be if I refused that request?” Taking her hand, he allowed her to “pull” him up from the sofa.

 

For the first three hours of the flight, Becca sat virtually silent as she stared out the window at the clouds between the fuselage and the Atlantic. “I said from the beginning that I’ve never done anything like this before,” she began out of the blue. 

Frederick looked up suddenly from the novel he brought along and turned toward her. The look on her face told him that she had more to say so he remained silent. 

“I’m used to fending for myself. It’s scary to think that I’d be fully dependent on someone. Every instinct in my body is telling me to stay in that apartment and look for a new job…”

“But?”

“For once, I’m going to ignore my instincts.” She glanced over at him.

“W-What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you’re going to need more shelves, Frederick. I come with a lot of books.”

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Thank you, my…”

“I have two requests if I’m going to do this, let you take care of me,” she interrupted softly.

“Name them, and they’re yours..”

“If I’m living in your house, I need to have a purpose other than ‘person you give money to’.”

Frederick nodded. “And what ‘purpose’ do you need?”

“To contribute somehow. I’m not the type to be idle for long. If I’m not going to have a job of my own, I need to do  _ something _ . I’ll go stir crazy otherwise.”

“You could write that cookbook you mentioned in one of our first communications,” he offered. “O-Or learn to knit. My assistant knits during her lunch hour.”

“While I’m open to both of those ideas, they’re hobbies. They’re not contributing in the sense I’m thinking of.” Becca closed the cover over her tablet and looked down at her lacquered nails. “If you’re the one out in the world making a living, I feel like I should be early  _ Mad Men _ -style Betty Draper when she was happy taking care of everything else.”

“Done.” He consciously curtailed his smile. She’d given the answer he’d been hoping for (the fact that they’d started a joint marathon of the television show in question notwithstanding). “And the other?”

“My sister is rather insistent on meeting you. I managed to keep her at bay until after this trip, and I think I can hold her off until I get moved in.” Taking a sip of wine, she bit the inside of her lip to hide her smile.

 

* * *

 

_ “...how does that make you feel?” _

_ “What did you say?” _

_ “I said ‘how does that make you feel’.” _

_ “It makes me feel like I’m sitting in a dunking tank and you’re lobbing softballs hoping to make a splash but you keep missing the target.” _

_ “Fortunately, I have time for a few more lobs. You are in my hospital. You’re my patient now, Will.” _

_ “I’m not talking to you, Frederick. I want to talk to Doctor Lecter.” _

 

“Doctor Lecter,” Frederick drawled, shifting his leather-bound folio to his left hand and shaking his colleague’s hand with his free right one just outside of his office. “I wasn’t expecting you. I hope no-one on my staff has been allowing Will Graham to make phone calls to you in my absence.”

“I have received no such calls,” the older man reassured. “I understand you’ve been traveling with a lovely, young companion.”

“I did. We had a perfectly wonderful time away.” He rapped his cane on the thick marble with a smile. Pulling his phone from his coat pocket, Frederick tapped the screen a few times and handed it to the other man. “I’ve never had a lovelier tour guide.”

Hannibal’s eyes darted back and forth a few times between Frederick Chilton and the image. The single image of a brunette in her early twenties happily unaware of the fact that  her picture was being taken while enjoying a cup of coffee on a balcony with the Eiffel Tower in the background caused his eyes to widen. “She’s...young, Frederick.”

“ _Rebecca_ has a degree from Johns Hopkins, is fluent in French, and was the head chef at The Lonely Garden until it closed four days ago.” Taking his phone back, he slid it into the inside pocket of his suit coat.

“I read a rather glowing review about the establishment in the paper last year. I’ll admit to being rather intrigued, despite my fondness for preparing and consuming meat.”

“How would you feel about coming for dinner?”

“I wouldn’t want to impose. I imagine she’s rather busy…”

Frederick dismissed his colleague’s concern away with a wave. “She loves to entertain, primarily in the form of tricking carnivores into believing that the protein is animal-based instead of plant.”

“Then how could I refuse?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been away for a while. I know. And I'm sorry. The holidays...moving...knitting... I'm starting a challenge this year to get fit and knit twelve pairs of socks in twelve months. I'll update when inspiration hits / I can. I've got a lot of things outlined or half written for more of this story. This chapter in particular has been a rather difficult birth. I'm sorry. I hope future chapters will be better. There is no song for this chapter.


End file.
